Pet Shop Beats
by Harlequin Kitsune
Summary: Count D's son takes over the business, and Christopher Orcott tracks him down to New York City's Chinatown and sets himself on the new D's case. But with a new generation of crimes, animals, and people, is Chris in over his head?
1. Prologue : Death

**Prologue**

**---**

You know, there was a time when I never would have questioned humanity. A time when I thought we had every right to do as we pleased, consequences be damned. When my biggest worry outside of my job was whether or not I could find a good lay and some beer.

That damn Count D changed all of that. To him, I was more than some cop on his case, and I hated him for that. I hated his dresses, his sweet tooth, his stupid animals (especially that damn goat) – but most of all, I hated the fact that he was right. That damn, cocky smile of his – he was completely justified to wear it. He knew things we didn't, because he wasn't human anymore – he never was human.

But he showed me his proof – he proved that humans really do need a good kick in the ass. A couple of kicks, really. We aren't that great – though I don't think we're quite as horrible as D may have once thought we were. I really do think we may have changed his mind, at least a little. I think you really grew on him, Chris. I think I did, too. I know he grew on me.

Christ. I haven't gone on about that bastard in a while. He was a grade-A jerk most of the time, you know? But he could still grow on you. He had the strangest charm. Innate charisma, I think that's what people called it. The description fits him, too. Big, pretty words. It's something he'd say to annoy me. But he was still right in the end. Humanity is killing the Earth.

You know, Chris, I'm trying to talk to you, but are you even listening? Can you hear me? Shit. I was shot just a while ago, wasn't I? In the throat? Somewhere near there, I guess. And I don't have one of D's miracle plants to save me. Shit. I'd really rather not die. D will probably laugh at me. He's still watching, you know? From that stupid boat in the sky. With that damn goat. It'll probably laugh at me, too.

Shit, that's right. You can't hear me. C'mon now, kid. You can't cry. You're a big shot FBI agent now, right? You can't cry over some dumb cop. You can't go back to New York in tears. Look, I'm smiling. I think. You gotta smile, too. Look on the bright side of life or something. Cheer up. You never know how short life might be, especially in our line of work. Can't afford to spend that much time being sad.

You're going to make me cry, Chris. D will laugh at me more. Know it off, kid. Please?

Dammit, who's hitting the dimmer? Christ, I just wanted to talk to my brother one last time. Was that too much to ask? Why did I spend that last while talking about D, anyway? Talk about a waste of time. How did he lodge himself so deeply in my mind? My heart? Stupid bastard.

Hey, sorry kid, but I'm just too tired now to even think. You're a grown man, Chris. You don't need me. You can do this without me. Hell, maybe D will let me watch you from that boat of his. I bet he misses you. I know I'll miss you. This really sucks. Dying was not on the top of my "to-do" lists this morning, and here I am, bleeding all over some hospital bed. In front of you, no less. You must think I'm some kind of dork, huh? Dying over this scratch.

Well, kid, I really don't think I can keep my eyes open. You look like mom, did you know that? Sweet and innocent and sincere. A rare human – I bet that's why D liked you. I don't want to go yet, but I don't think I have a choice anymore. So, I guess I should stop delaying it. I guess this is . . .

. . . goodbye.


	2. Devotion

"Shit. There's been another animal attack. Seems a gator just ripped out the throat of Janet Garner – one of Don Shipero's mistresses."

Chief rattled off the newest strange occurrence. Christopher Orcot, half hidden behind a giant pile of paperwork dangerously balanced on a desk cluttered with photographs, snapped his head up. The resulting gust of air sent a few papers fluttering to the floor.

"Why they have to pester the FBI each time, I don't know," chief went on, annoyance clear in his voice. "Quite frankly, it's getting on my last ne-"

Without warning, Chris sped by Chief as he abandoned his desk, grabbing his coat as he shouted the familiar "this one's mine!" he always threw into the air when a strange case about animals popped up. The rest of the office had grown to expect it, even laughing as they spared his deserted paperwork a glance. They had, by now, pegged the young agent as some animal activist, as he always came back with something against the humans rather than the attacking creatures.

In truth, Chris just wanted an excuse to see the owner of a very strange pet shop.

Chris had traveled across the States, visiting each Chinatown he came across, looking for a pet shop. He found several small stores that sold pets, but it took him five years to find the familiar sign of "D's Pet Shop" hanging above one, nestled away on Canal Street in New York City. Only then did he allow himself to be stationed to one FBI unit, which soon became his second family after his brother was killed in the line of duty.

Chris slowed his stride after dashing from the office, hands buried in the pockets of his worn suit. It had only been five and a half years since he had become an FBI agent, and yet so much had happened in this adult life of his. He could barely remember six-year-old Chris, who had stayed with Count D for so long, befriending the strange people that lived with him. Others, especially his aunt and his uncle, tried to convince him that the only people in that shop were Count D and his customers – but Chris knew what he saw. Pon-chan, Tetsu, Felipe – hundreds of wonderful (and a few not-so-wonderful) people lived there. Maybe that had not been human, but what did that matter? They had still been his friends.

Slowing to a stop, Chris found himself outside of Madame Wong's Pastries (Best Chinese desserts this side of the world!). He fished out his wallet and went in, a tinkling bell announcing his entrance.

"Ah, young Master Orcot! In for the usual?"

Chris grinned at the small, old man behind the counter. "Yessir, Mister Wong!" He fished several bills from his wallet as Wong piled a small mountain of sweets in a box. Chris had next to no money after bills and constantly buying sweets for the count, but he did not care. Seeing D smile and spending time with the strange Asian man was enough for the young agent.

"How is the young Master D?" Wong asked as he topped the box off generously. "He does not come in often these days."

Chris blushed a little, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. "Heh, sorry about that. He's doing fine. He helps a lot of cases."

"Good to hear, good to hear," Wong said cheerfully as he handed the box over the counter. "Well, give him my regards."

Chris smiled. "I will. Thanks." He pushed thirty dollars over the counter to pay for the twenty-five dollars worth of sweets. "Keep the change," he said as he gave a wave and left the bakery.

Now swinging the box gently, Chris hummed as he continued down the street, taking in the bright sunshine and cool breeze. A perfect late-spring morning. Chris hoped that his visit to D would make the day even better. His mood brightened at the prospect even as he just saw the shop come into view.

D seemed to be waiting at the door when Chris arrived. The door opened even before Chris could knock. "Hello, agent," D said with a warm smile. His black hair, cropped close to his nape, fell in such a way that it hid none of his face, not even his strange, golden eye. Unlike his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather (and all the others before them), this D did not conceal his features. Whether it was because he was better at masking his emotions than his predecessors or because he simply did not feel the need to hid anything, Chris did not know. He opted to believe the second explanation, however, as he held exceedingly idealistic views about D.

"Hey D," Chris replied brightly as the two stepped into the shop. All sorts of animals scurried about inside, and several bounded towards Chris and pounced on him even before he could close the door. By the time he sat down on the antique couch in the shop's main room, a canary perched on his head, a cat curled up on his lap, a rat scurried up his arm, a ferret nested in his shirt, and a raccoon pressed itself against his chest, supported by Chris's free arm. He managed to scratch the raccoon under her chin while supporting her and stroked the cat, carefully not to bump him with the box of sweets. Before he settled in completely, he felt a small iguana crawl from the couch to occupy the shoulder opposite the one the rat now sat on.

"More and more of my pets flock to you each day. You may not be able to leave one evening," D remarked casually, though his dark eyes seemed to grin at the idea. He thought humans were remarkable creatures – some were dangerous, yes, and cruel. But some where wonderful, and D had grown to think of the blonde six years his senior as his favorite.

"I'm not sure I'd mind too much," Chris laughed. He managed to hold the box out to D, though he received a reproached look from the cat as he did.

While D had obviously left several characteristics of his family behind, the Count D sweet tooth had obviously stayed strong within him.

"Oh, Christopher, how you spoil me!" D cried as he grabbed the bog and hugged it close. He did not go into the same sugar convulsions as his father, but he still loved his sweets a good deal more than his health should have been able to handle. He spread the pastries out on a table already heaped with snacks, most of which were payment for his rarer "pets."

"So, my dear agent, what brings you here today?" D asked as he sat down on a chair across the table from Chris, small smile on his face as he picked up an almond cookie to munch on.

Chris fidgeted a little, settling back in the couch as several more animals crowded on him. He always hated when his job became the center of discussion, even if it was his excuse to leave the office and come to the pet shop. "Have you heard the news about Miss Janet Garner?" Chris asked, fishing a small notebook and pen out of his pocket.

"Hmmm . . ." D tapped a long finger against his cheek as he thought. "Oh, yes!" he suddenly exclaimed. He folded his hands in his lap. "The young lady who was killed by an alligator. Quite unfortunate. Did they have to put the poor creature down?"

Always, always, always D was more concerned about the animals in the cases. It still fazed Chris, who sat quietly twirling his pen between his fingers as he tried to gain control of his words again. "Yeah," he finally responded as he jotted a few notes down. "Was it from this shop?"

D nodded immediately. "The poor girl. She was still a child, you know." It took Chris a moment to remind himself that D's sympathetic eulogy was for the animal. "I sold her only a few days ago." D paused, raising his hand to his cheek to rest his face in his palm. "I did not, however, sell it to that young lady."

Chris, who had been scribbling some more notes, started and looked up. "You didn't? Do you remember who you did sell it to?"

"I do not think I could forget," D replied stiffly, obviously miffed by whoever it had been. He fussed with the collar of his dress-like shirt before elaborating. "He and his goons repeated who he was several times and tried to rough me up. The man seemed quite sure of himself. His name was Don Shipero."

Chris wrote the name in big letters across the page slowly. After a moment of thought, he looked up slowly. "Then this could have been . . . murder."

D nodded. "After hearing it on the news, I thought the same. The human heart is so full of weakness."

Chris lowered his notebook and pen. "Why would he have killed Garner? I thought she was his favorite."

"I do believe she was, dear agent," D replied, leaning back and folding his hands together once again. "And that probably explains the motives."

Chris stared at D in confusion. "I . . . don't follow."

D smiled warmly. "Have you ever read _Othello_, dear agent?"

Chris paused to think. "Maybe. I read . . . something by Shakespeare in high school, I'm sure. I don't actually remember though."

D smoothed his shirt and folded his hands lightly. "Mister Shakespeare had quite a keen understanding of the human heart, and he transcribed this knowledge into all his plays. _Othello_ is quite analogous, I believe, to our current case. You see, Othello was madly in love with his wife, Desdemona, as she was with him. You could not find a more loving couple. Othello, however, murdered Desdemona.

"What?" Chris put his notepad down, eyebrows raised. "But . . . he loved her. . . . Did something happen?"

"Of course. One man fed Othello suspicions. He made Othello believe the Desdemona was in love with another man. Othello, though he knew of Desdemona's love for him, beyond a doubt, found himself believing this man. He decided to kill his wife. He felt justified because he loved her so much – he felt like he was saving her from her supposed sin."

Chris just continued to stare at D. "But . . . I don't understand. If he loved her so much . . . why didn't he just talk to her? Surely he had to doubt the man."

D tapped his fingers, peculiar smile on his face. The expression always chilled Chris – one corner of D's thin lips raised while he tilted his head so only his icy eye gazed at the FBI agent. The look, one of childish wonder and cold calculation, crossed D's face when he appraised Chris in a way he would never submit his precious animals to. He had considered Chris like this for quite some time when the two had first met. K had to assess Chris from time to time, as if to reassure himself this creature, innocent as he was, had only human blood in him.

And, perhaps, to decide if he was worthy.

Several tense, silent moments passed. D then laughed lightly, leaning back again, visage bright and cheerful again. As if the stressed pause had never occurred, he went on to answer Chris's question.

"He may have, but for three circumstances. Othello was black, and in a predominantly white world, he was very self-conscious. He was insecure, and thus prone to believe that those that claimed to love him could not be faithful. The man was one in a position of trust, and presented evidence he falsely implanted. Because of his authority, there were no doubts about the evidence. Finally, the man was a man and Desdemona was only a woman. Othello's time was a patriarchical one, and a woman could not be trusted over a man."

"Even . . ."

"Even anything you might suggest, Christopher," D said as he leaned forward to pour himself some jasmine tea. "Tea, dear agent?"

Chris quickly shook his head. D's sugary voice was "sweet" enough for Chris. He ran his fingers through his short hair, hardly noticing as D put more incense in the burner between them. The Count D manipulative way of speaking had come through even stronger, as if to make up for the characteristics this D had shed. He hardly needed the incense and tea to weave his stories and trap hapless humans with their sticky-sweet webs.

Struggling with his words for a moment, Chris finally spoke up again. "But . . . but, Desdemona . . . was she guilty of anything?"

D grinned. "She was guilty of several crimes." He paused, watching with amusement as Chris leaned forward, waiting with baited breath to determine the morals of each character in the story D was recounting. "She was guilty of being beautiful, of being kind, and of being innocent."

Chris remained hunched forward, wide brown eyes staring up at D, waiting for more. When D just stared back at him quietly, Chris realized he now had to add on to the conversation. He leaned back slowly, given slack to regain his strength and struggle back in again. He sighed a little.

"But . . . those are not crimes. How can that justify it?"

"Perhaps innocence is the greatest of sins." At Chris's confused look, D shook his head and let the idea pass by itself. He took up a more direct approach to help Chris along his line of thought. "I never said there was justification by this guilt. Guilty actions are never justification for needless murder, by law or not."

Chris shifted, thinking briefly about the men and woman he had helped put behind bars, many of whom may have earned the death sentence. The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he shook it off in an attempt to continue with the conversation without seeming too startled. "So he killed her because he thought she was unfaithful . . . and felt justified because he thought she was committing sins . . . but what does that have to do with Don Shipero?"

"Janet Garner was Shipero's favorite for good reasons. She was beautiful, as you have undoubtedly seen. She was loyal and loving. Everyone knew that. She was also, however, exceedingly naïve. She could not tell between lies and truths and thought she was merely helping an old man find peace in his later years, rather than helping an enemy of Shipero secure a reason for Shipero to act excessively out of character."

Chris just stared at D for a minute. The young Chinese man had just rattled off his theory as casually as one might explain the weather patterns of the day before. How he might have known all this, however, was a secondary thought. How he came to the conclusion that this was why Shipero had killed Garner troubled Chris more.

His confusion must have been apparent, but D just chuckled and picked up a few more almond cookies, nibbling delicately on the sweets between sentences. "Miss Garner came in several weeks ago with a nice old man. They visited here several times – and never realized someone was tailing them. A someone with a camera. After a few visits, the old man finally decided on a pet, and Miss Garner had little more to do with him, moving on to the next person who needed help. Pictures tell a thousand words, though, and those words rarely convey the truth.

"When Shipero came in, I recognized one of the men with him – the same man who had been following the young woman with a camera. It should have been obvious what was going on then, but little Creek was content in going with Shipero. I hoped that, perhaps, the man would decide not to give the animal away if he enjoyed her company – but, obviously, to no avail. The rest, as they say, is history."

Chris blinked a little and finally shook his head. A defeated smile spread across his face. "You'd make a damn good detective, D, you know that?"

D laughed. "Hardly. I only notice things, nothing more. I enjoy being a simple peddler of love, dreams, and pets."

"Love and dreams are in the mix now, huh?" Chris grinned as he finally picked his notebook and pen up again. "Well, guess I can turn some of this in to Chief. Maybe not with the whole Shakespeare comparison, though." He put the notebook and pen back in his suit pocket. "What happened to Othello?" he asked after a moment of thought.

"When he learned the truth behind the scheme, he tried to kill the man behind the whole thing – when that failed, and he was told he was to be brought to trial, he killed himself. A land was left with no heir, and many innocent people lost their lives, all because of the weakness of the heart." D shook his head and finished off his cup of tea. "That, however, was just fiction. Maybe this tale will end differently."

"Yeah . . . maybe. Hopefully. I don't want any more deaths than are necessary. Er – that is . . . not necessary. But. Uhm. Well, than have happened, I guess. I mean – "

D chuckled. "I understand perfectly, dear agent."

Chris smiled a D, but sighed quietly. "I guess I should probably get back and get a report ready, then." He began to dislodge animals from his body. "Next time, we gotta stave case reports off as long as possible. I think I gave the pets just enough time to settle down." He had gotten everyone off except the raccoon, who clung stubbornly to his shirt.

Standing, D returned the smile. He walked around and carefully urged the raccoon away, cradling her gently. "I will keep that in mind, Christopher. I would enjoy longer conversations about other things, myself." _Or any excuse to study you further_, he thought with a cold inner grin. He walked Chris to the door, giving a glance over his shoulder to make sure the animals did not try to follow him out to the entrance. "Well then, agent, until next time. Maybe you can come by for a pet instead of business next time."

Chris looked excited about the idea, turning to look over the animals with bright eyes. "Y'know, that's not a bad idea! Next time I have a free day, I'll be sure to come by."

With a bow, D grinned. "Then it's a date."

Chris paused, regarding D strangely, mixed emotions running across his face. But as he opened his mouth to try and verbally think things out, D gave him a smile and closed the door to the shop. With a quiet sigh, Chris turned and began to walk back, his pace much slower than earlier.

As the front door closed, the pets reamassed in the main room. Before long, he was flanked by beautiful humanoids chattering away, hoping for their opinion to be heard first and over all others.

"I really do wisssssh you wouldn't let him in for ssssso long, Count."

"What are you talking about? I want to know why you won't let him just stay! You know he'd love it, Count!"

"I think this moderation is fine as it is."

"He smells like the pastry shop when he comes in!"

"What does that have to do with the conversation at hand?"

"Plenty! I want him around more!"

"Less! He doesn't even come in to see us."

D laughed and went back to his chair, picking up some more cake. "No use arguing about it, everyone. I quite like his company, but I like our current situation."

"What do you see in him, Count?"

"Plenty," D replied with a grin. "I see a lot of potential, and I want to find more."

"But you see a lot of potential in a lot of people! Why keep him? He's annoying."

"Oh, hush. He is merely young and innocent."

"You said yourself innocence was a sin."

"It was merely an observation."

"You haven't answered my question, Count."

D sprinkled more sugar into his tea, chuckling at the squabbling of his beloved animals. "The answer is quite simple. He . . . intrigues me. Nothing more, nothing less." With his cold smile back across his pale face, D leaned back and sipped at his tea.


End file.
